


Signifiant et Signifié

by exmachinarium



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, Multi, and rather silly, check chapters for additional info, until it's not, usually dialogue-heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 17:58:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmachinarium/pseuds/exmachinarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another series of Les Mis drabbles (as of now unconnected and mostly R-centric).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which A Grand Error Is Amended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a silly and clichéd idea I had with a friend about Grantaire initially not realising Enjolras was in fact a man. Luckily for the First Inebriate of the barricade, Jehan is always there to save the day before scandal (and groping) ensues.

“Wait, so… You’re trying to tell me that this gorgeous, heavenly, absolutely stunning and radiant being of nearly celestial perfection…”

Jehan nodded patiently.

“… Oh.”

Jehan put his hands lightly on Grantaire’s shoulders, attempting to lessen the impact of what must have been the biggest shock of his friend’s entire life.

“… Oh… Oh,  _merde_!” Grantaire choked out finally, the back of his head hitting the wall against which he was leaning.

“Will you be all right?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine…ish. Just give me a minute. And some wine.”

“We’ll have to return inside for that, I’m afraid,” the poet gestured with his head towards Musain. If they could be bothered to strain their ears, they’d surely hear the subject of their discussion delivering one of his impassioned speeches. “It’s funny, though.”

“What? Funny that I’ve nearly made a fool of myself? You’re terribly supportive.”

Jehan chuckled and shook his head fondly before reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind Grantaire’s ear (it bounced right back).

“That, too. But what I meant was, it’s funny you never made the same mistake with me.”

It was Grantaire’s turn to laugh.

“You? Honestly, master poet… Anyone who makes that mistake has clearly never  _looked_  at you at all. Or seen you knock a man out for insulting Romantics.”

The poet nodded approvingly, linked their arms together and lead his friend back towards the lights of the café.


	2. For The Love Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the joys of post-coital bliss... only not really. All-dialogue, E/R.

“Grantaire.”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you smirking?”

“Oh no, it’s nothing.”

“Really now. After such complete act of debauchery as we have just performed you could at least make an effort at being straightforward with me.”

“Way to put it in words, Fearless Leader mine… But really, it’s nothing. Just that… It’s not Patria.”

“… Pardon?”

“Down at the Musain we always assumed that, should you ever find yourself in the throes of passion, the peak of your pleasure would be punctuated by your angelic voice declaring in the loudest tones your undying love to our so oppressed country…”

“Don’t you have anything bet-“

“Which assumption was proven wrong mere seconds ago by yours truly. In other words, and I do sincerely apologise for ruining the moment, our friends currently owe me a lot of money.”

“… Don’t you _dare_ , Capital R.”


	3. A Watchful Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Need a talisman, sir?”
> 
> Bahorel looks up from the display where he was looking over the trinkets - small round stones painted in shades of blue, something his mistress might enjoy. The rest of the woman’s stock evaded his attention so far, but now it becomes clear the stand is less that of a craftsman and more of a travelling witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested over at tumblr by caroll-in, Bahorel + Eyes. Felt like getting this one someplace… Less obvious.

“Need a talisman, sir?”

Bahorel looks up from the display where he was looking over the trinkets - small round stones painted in shades of blue, something his mistress might enjoy (because she might make light of her lack of jewellery, but he knows better than that). The rest of the woman’s stock evaded his attention so far, but now it becomes clear the stand is less that of a craftsman and more of a travelling witch.

Still, no need to be sour about it.

“Madam?”

“I can see you could use one, sir,” the woman kicks off her spiel the second Bahorel focuses on her face, “I can tell, yes,” one wrinkled hand gingerly touches yet another bruise forming on the man’s right cheek (small price for a good morning stretch to get one’s blood pumping). 

“There are bad people surrounding you, sir. Their evil eye is upon you, calling in the darkness and danger and violence,” she croaks in what Bahorel suspects is her best prophetic voice and not doing an entirely bad job at it, if he says so himself. “But you can ward them off, make them go away and stop bothering you and hurting you, sir.”

“So what you are saying, madam,” he interrupts, a smile stretching his chapped, bruised lips, “is that this here talisman will keep me safely away from the brawls and bruises?”

The woman nods enthusiastically, convinced she has caught herself a client; but to her surprise and disappointment, Bahorel moves away with a chuckle.

“In that case, madam, you got yourself the wrong man.”

“But I’ll make sure to send a friend of mine over,” he shouts from the end of the street in an afterthought, “Lord knows he could use some extra luck!”


	4. Metamorphoses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eponine stretches with a satisfied hum and returns to tracing the lines of Combeferre’s arm.
> 
> “You know what? When I was small I really wished to be a boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second of caroll-in's prompts - Combeferre/Eponine, Wish.

Eponine stretches with a satisfied hum and returns to tracing the lines of Combeferre’s arm.

“You know what? When I was small I really wished to be a boy.”

The moments when Eponine talks about her childhood are brief and far between, Combeferre knows, so instead of brushing the remark off, he eggs her on with a gentle murmur.

“And why would that be…?”

She pauses in though, then shrugs (and with the way she’s lying sprawled on top of him, he can feel every inch of her arms and chest sliding against his body).

“I guess it didn’t really matter back at my old place,” and there is the unspoken relief at the last few words, because no more and hopefully never more, “You had to be tough either way. But there I was, looking at ‘Parnasse and thinking he’s still better off than me, somehow… More justified in what he does, more… Free? I don’t know.”

“And there was a practical bit, too,” ah, Eponine, ever the practical one, “You didn’t have to squat to piss, didn’t risk getting pregnant from fooling around with some guy you didn’t even like, didn’t have to look for clean sheets every damn month…” She snorts at the last one, clearly another stray memory connected with that particular fad of being a girl. Combeferre just smiles and doesn’t prod further.

“Think I could still pull it off, though?” Eponine asks instead, sitting up and looking first to Combeferre’s chest, then to her own, as if comparing sizes. “Becoming a boy?” she cups her breasts and presses them flat.

“Say, ‘Ferre, who would you wish me to be? A girl or a boy?”

Combeferre makes a show of analysing the question, brows knotted, face serious, a true scientist at work.

“I believe my answer’s ‘yourself’.”

“Don’t you ever get bored of this? Always being the top of the class?” Eponine scoffs at his self-satisfied smile, but she can’t hold up her act for too long, not with Combeferre’s broad hands massaging her hips.

“Correct answer… Again,” she purrs, sliding back down to award him a suitable mark.


	5. A Strange Case of a Backward Suitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all started when Joly remarked jokingly how disappointed he was that ‘Enjolras’ doesn’t spell ‘Grantaire’ backwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the final prompt by caroll-in - Enjolras/Grantaire, Backward. This one… Escaped from me somehow, so it’s probably not as good as the previous ones.

It all started when Joly remarked jokingly how disappointed he was that ‘Enjolras’ doesn't spell ‘Grantaire’ backwards.

“One more proof that our society is severely misguided,” Bossuet nodded sagely.

“Now, here’s a case I’d gladly build a barricade for!” Courfeyrac, fresh from settling the final details of their next meeting with Enjolras and Combeferre, cheered, squeezing in between Bahorel and Jehan.

“And such a tragedy, too…” remarked the poet thoughtfully before grabbing the closest slip of paper and extracting a pen and a tiny inkwell from the confines of his garish waistcoat. Bahorel rolled his eyes as if to say ‘not another poem about those two!’, but anyone could see the beginnings of a smirk on his lips.

“Can’t they mind their own business?” Enjolras grumbled from the next table, not even raising his head from a stack of papers he was meticulously sorting through.

“You have to admit they have a point, though. It is… Quite remarkable, to say the least.”

“What is?”

“The way you and Grantaire seem to be the perfect obverse of each other,” Combeferre clarified. “‘Seem’ being the key word.”

Enjolras made a face at his best friend’s remark, but instead of arguing against the erroneous point he decided to focus on the work at hand, fingers skimming across the pages snatched from his apartment’s desk in the morning rush: letters from their associates, pamphlet projects, information on the state of things…

“I don’t remember these…” he murmured half to himself stumbling across several thicker, coarser sheets. “Must be Grantaire’s.”

Across the table, Combeferre raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

“Asked him to contribute to the covers of our new pamphlets on Courfeyrac’s suggestion and for once our resident cynic complied,” Enjolras explained hastily and looked over the sketches in question, “And with surprisingly good results, too.”

He grabbed the one he deemed best of the lot to pass it on, but before Combeferre managed to get a hold on it, Enjolras’ arm snapped back.

“Is something wrong?” Combeferre blinked in surprise.

Enjolras shook his head, lips twitching in an odd grimace, and proceeded to stare at the reverse side of Grantaire’s project as if he wasn't entirely sure what he was seeing and if he should burn the whole thing immediately or hide it where nobody else could possibly find it.

Someone at the other table (most likely Joly) burst out laughing, others joining in almost immediately. Combeferre rose from his chair and casually moved over to the merry crowd, figuring that their chief needed a moment to come to terms with whatever form of flirtation his currently (and no longer curiously) absent suitor thrust upon him this time.


	6. Of Everything and Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That Grantaire knows how to drink is known to all. But upon entering the Musain, Combeferre is a little surprised to hear their very own cynic engaged in what turns out to be an animated discussion on the specific qualities of a certain vintage and how they are acquired.
> 
> Including the preferable angle of the slope and soil qualities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tumblr prompt by dead-revolutionaries - Grantaire, Knowledge.

That Grantaire knows how to drink is known to all. But upon entering the Musain, Combeferre is a little surprised to hear their very own cynic engaged in what turns out to be an animated discussion on the specific qualities of a certain vintage and how they are acquired.

Including the preferable angle of the slope and soil qualities.

Combeferre approaches quietly, so as to not disturb the flow of Grantaire’s explanation, sits down nearby and, propping his head on joined hands, listens. The monologue continues for some time, but Combeferre remains quiet, commenting solely by minute nods or an occasional barely-there raise of eyebrows whenever there is something he did not realise or know before.

“But surely I must bore you, a proper scholar of the world,” Grantaire acknowledges Combeferre’s presence as soon as he’s done with his little speech, not with mockery, just the ever-present air of a lesser man (which would cause Enjolras to grit his teeth in frustration).

“Quite the contrary, Grantaire. In fact, I have a question regarding…”

Thus the discussion resumes, with only the players changed. From wine they slowly drift towards vegetation in general, then to its symbolical use in art, whereupon, unbeknownst to himself most likely, Grantaire rises to the pinnacles of passion - only to slip back demurely as they enter waters more familiar to Combeferre (and it must be said, the cynic is a remarkable listener as well). From insects they move to societies, geography and cartography, both keeping an even pace, going not in circles around one another like beasts of prey but rather strolling arm in arm in a scholarly manner that would put many greater names to shame with its impeccable symmetry.

They would go on, perhaps, until the last patron left the Musain, but there is suddenly a gentle tap on Combeferre’s shoulder and as he looks up, a familiar face beams down on him with glittering green eyes and a broad smile.

“Save some of that for the meeting, ‘Ferre. Everyone’s already waiting.”

Combeferre responds with a smile and a nod, but as he rises from his chair, his gaze once again drifts towards the person seated across. And the smile of fondness does not falter as he expresses his thanks.

“And I do hope we will continue some other time,” he adds, receiving a broad sweep of hands and a crooked smirk for an answer.


	7. Samson and the Minotaur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snip, snip, snip go the scissors as golden, nearly translucent locks fall and scatter about the stool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick, overly metaphorical drabble - and I mean it, beware of the rampant mythology - written for a friend (DracoMaleficium on AO3/Dracze on tumblr). Still haven't decided if it's book-verse or modern AU, so whichever you choose is all right. Recommended background music's Regina Spektor's 'Samson', obviously.

Snip, snip, snip go the scissors as golden, nearly translucent locks fall and scatter about the stool.

(“It is odd for Samson to cut his mane before a battle…”

“That’s preventive.”

“… The rally?”

“Yes.”

“You expect it to go violent,” more a statement than a question.

“I hope it will.”

Calloused digits tighten around golden tangles for the briefest of moments. The biting remark doesn’t come.)

The light from the dirty window falls on the desk, reflects in the half-empty-half-full bottle, creating a fickle light-shadow of red and black on the worn wood of its surface. Fresh paint, unattended and forgotten, drips from the edge onto the floor, the colour blue staining the floorboards.

(“What shall I do with the remains, I wonder,” again, not a question.

“Throw them away.”

“The Sun’s offering? By no means. I shall become Penelope, Deianira perhaps; weave them into a cloak granting its owner invincibility,” a gentle brush of fingers, “Build a maze around it and remain in the centre as its sole guardian.”

A sigh of irritation; there is no time, no time for this foolishness, no time to remain tangled in mythologies.)

Snip, snip… Snip. The scissors cease their song, retreat onto their perch on the desk, inches away from the black-red ghost of the bottle. A swoosh of the sheet, a gentle creak of wood as the newly haloed deity descends.

(“I was mistaken though.”

“About?”

“Not Samson. Joan of Arc.”)


	8. In Which Ferre Becomes A 24/7 Helpline For Distressed And Emotionally Confused Revolutionaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't even have to look at the screen to know who’s calling somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sprouted from a comic by tumblr user hamstr (http://hamstr.tumblr.com/post/49969691425/theonlycheeseleft-sometimes-in-my-head). Me and my girlfriend figured out Enjolras would probably be in dire need of having his feeling-a-thing explained after things turned a bit more horizontal with R. So yeah.

He didn't even have to look at the screen to know who’s calling somehow.

"Enjolras?"

The voice on the other side was hushed and slightly raw. Did that mean what he thought it meant…?

"All right, calm down, I can’t understand a word. What is… Oh. OH." He sighed, face turning from concerned to downright exasperated.

"Listen, I know it’s serious and I'm certainly not denying it, just…" Combeferre finally managed to focus on the alarm clock, “Oh God, Enjolras, it’s 4:20 AM. That’s not really a proper time to discuss…"

After another bout of barely coherent phrases from the other side of the network, Combeferre sighed and prayed to whatever deity there was to give him strength.

"Yes, we can meet and discuss, but not NOW. It’s far, far too early. You can come over later, but only when Grantaire is already awake and preferably forced to do something else. Otherwise he might get scared he had done something wrong and… Yes, I understand, good for you, but you know he doesn't work that way. Just… Trust me on that. Now. Is he actually still sleeping? Yes? Good. Go back to him. Yes, yes, I’ll remember, just please go to sleep? Fine. Goodnight."

The soft click of Enjolras disconnecting was the sweetest sound in the universe. But the resulting silence was rapidly broken by none other than Courfeyrac bursting in with a wide grin on his face.

"Was that…? Did they? What am I even asking, of course they did! FINALLY!"

"I’m happy that you’re happy…?" Combeferre offered with a sigh.

"Oh, come on, 'Ferre, a little more enthusiasm wouldn't hurt you!"

"Not at 4 AM."

"Oh, come oooon. But I guess you’re right, there are more important things than that."

"Glad someone finally understands that."

"But of course!" Courfeyrac climbed on his bed and took both of Combeferre's hands in his. “Now, focus and tell me - do we have everything we need to bake a ‘Congratulations on the Sex’ cake?"

"… What."

Courfeyrac looked at him like it wasn’t the most ridiculous question ever asked at 4 in the morning.

"… I guess we do…?" Combeferre tried.

"Perfect!" Courfeyrac smooched him on both cheeks and stormed out to conquer the kitchen.

"Do you think I can haul Feuilly over? I sort of suck at decorating!"

Combeferre just sighed and went back to sleep.


End file.
